Thursday, 20 April 2017

Day 8: wind food

do you ever wonder if your spine
talks about you behind your back?

i do, and
ive stood on that ridge
before a charred bridge
brittle and black

i see youve been invited to dine
on a whim of the spin of a dime

today's offer
cured thought buffer
with stuffed water
and fetish feta
- on the side -
cyanide cider
or a dead seal
from the trunk of your automobile

as you settle your derriere
the hors d'ouvre of tonight
is meagre, it's all that survived the blight

do you ever wonder if your ears
ever whisper to each other
when you sleep in the darkest hour of night?

me too, but what i mean is
some things are as they appear
and most things aren't
it isn't right

how this kaleidoscopic trope (of life)
makes it so hard to cope (in strife)
when your gyroscope is broke'
it knows no up from down
just to follow the sound
of soapy skin sliding on a tightrope
or a chess set churning in the riptide
king, knight and pawn alike

all i can say is
dont fight
the dawn
or strike the morn'

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